Broken
by AliBlack
Summary: Broken. They were all broken. He could fix them. He always did. But then again, as Sylar learns, there are exceptions to every rule. Especially when one subject really doesn't want to be repaired. [SylarOC]


_Broken _

The steady beat of his own footsteps along the pavement was just like the ticking of a second hand. He could have spent the whole walk that way, alone with the beat of a machine, perfectly in rhythm every time.

He thought he heard something. He was sure he'd heard something. Maybe the same heartbeat from earlier at Isaac's. He looked behind himself but saw nothing. After a moment he continued, unworried, knowing whatever the sound happened to be was either his own mind playing tricks on him or something he could deal with later. Anyone foolish enough to be following him could in no way be a true threat.

He continued walking, restarting the steady beat of his footsteps, tick-tocking like the timepieces. So steady. So rhythmic. All in time. He could change it if he wanted. It was all in how quickly he chose to move, but all the same, it would be fixed whether it was faster or slower; always fixed. Heartbeats too can hasten and slow, that he knew so well; that they could always be trusted to fluctuate at any given moment. He knew so well the feeling of when his heart began to quicken, the muscles of his respiratory system tighten, his shoulders pull back as an excitement slithered up his spine and he had to suppress the shivers it made him want to express. He smiled at the thought of the high; the rush; the phenomenal ecstasy that feeling brought and he marveled at the thought of anyone becoming addicted to drugs when the rush of adrenaline, something his own body produced, was more satisfying than anything artificial.

And still he craved more of it. Soon after the high came the rebound and life seemed so slow and empty that he could hardly stand to wait between taking lives. His heart slowed and muscles relaxed, a feeling of loss overtaking him. It was a sad thing to miss. It all seemed so average, too average. He needed a rush and he needed it soon. As long as he focused on the rhythm he could bear it.

Walking through the city had always been fascinating. His footsteps provided the most basic of beats, the cars a constant resonance mingling with it. Men in business suits crossed the streets, women in high fashion clothing caught eyes, children clutched their parents hands and stayed close to their sides. Every once in a while a car horn sounded or an alarm went off and that was to be expected. It all worked together to form a huge network of moving parts, each performing its own duty without hesitation. And that was why it would hurt to end it. The poor little innocent pieces of the machinery. Maybe they never stopped to wonder how special they were or contemplate why they continued to follow order, but nevertheless, they were innocent.

He had been a part once. Back and forth in the monotonous and timeless slew of futility. But lately things had been different. Better. Who knew the amazing feeling of freedom one could achieve when they broke free of the order. The feeling of control; that he had power over his destiny for once. So much power. So what if a few timepieces went unfixed? He had higher purposes to fulfill now.

It was a new experience this time, walking down the street, ever since he had returned from Montana. His hearing was more sensitive to sounds he never knew existed. The breeze that carried into the city no longer sailed though the streets but collided with buildings, being forced in another direction, again and again, bouncing every which way like a pinball in an arcade machine. As he passed by hospitals he could hear the elderly gasp for one last breath and infants cry out with their first. Central Park's trees groaned as they slowly knitted together their next coat of bark and stretched toward the sun for its life-sustaining light. The crackling of electricity had taken him longer to decipher. He'd heard it once, then twice, and both only when he was concentrating. It was the quietest of all noises, so soft, fleeting. It was as if it where such a subtle process that it barely whispered, and that was what it turned out to be; common, constant activity on a molecular level. The electrical impulses that fly though human neurons constantly made a sound like a tesla coil on a much smaller scale and it was such a minute and invariable process that it would be otherwise impossible to notice. And then it began to amaze him how much escaped human attention on a day to day basis.

He looked up at the building when he arrived. He remembered moving his mother's belongings in after his father had passed. She had been so lonely but wouldn't tell him, not that he needed the words to understand. However intrusive, she wouldn't have burdened her son with her presence. That would have been a step in the wrong direction in her eyes. Instead they would both go on separately, each living a solitary life, neither daring to step outside the worlds they resided in. As he mounted the stairs he contemplated the origin of people's imprisonment. It seemed that although a child is placed in a certain lot in life by his parents, instead of moving, leaving, finding the place he wants to be, he stays. He stays and uses the boundaries his parents placed him in as a guideline for where he builds his walls. And so brick by brick seals himself into the life he stumbled into, without question, without hesitation, and then as he toils, wonders why he never breaks the mold. At some point shouldn't he stand back, looking at this place he has walled himself into and wonder 'what have I done?'

But he broke free. He tore down his walls and left behind the life he built up, and the boy who had sealed him in. Miraculously, painfully, he broke free.

He knocked on the door. That sound again, the heartbeat; maybe talking; the sodden sound of someone's eyes moving back and forth. He had distinctly heard someone whispering "Sylar" the way any person picks up on their name in a conversation. He looked behind him but then he heard the doorknob turning.

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There was a knock on the door. He hadn't been there fifteen minutes and a majority of the time had been working on the clock that would not tick. As he worked, he used the silence to think of ways to ask his mother what he wanted to know. It was jarring as the loud echo disturbed the quiet. Mrs. Gray stood and went to answer it, letting her hand slip from her son's shoulder. Sylar heard her say hello and a woman's voice answer the same. He turned his head to the side, enough to see the visitor out of his peripheral vision but still keep an eye on his work.

"I just wanted to return your records," the woman said with a smile, handing a stack of albums to Mrs. Gray. "Thanks again."

"No trouble at all dear." He saw his mother turn back to look at him quickly. She smiled. "My Gabriel's visiting. Come in, I'd like you to meet him."

"Oh, Virginia, I couldn't. I'll leave you two to spend some time together."

"Nonsense," the woman said grabbing her wrist and guiding her into the room, closing the door to block any escape routes. Sylar groaned. He wanted to seek his mother's advice, not meet her neighbors. Somehow it didn't surprise him that she'd drag random women into her apartment to see him.

"Gabriel, I have someone I want to introduce you to." Mrs. Gray edged the young woman toward the place where he sat at work. "This is Tabitha Harland. She lives upstairs."

"Nice to meet you," the woman said rubbing her arm uncomfortably.

"The same here," Sylar muttered, barely looking up. He found the spring he was looking for. It was stretched too far. No wonder the clock wasn't working. He saw his mother frown out of the corner of his eye. The young woman turned to look at the door. Mrs. Gray cleared her throat.

"Well would you like to borrow a few more then?" she said to the other woman as she drummed her fingers on the records in her hands.

"If you'd like to let me see them, sure," Tabitha responded.

"They're in my room. I'll be right back."

Sylar continued to work on the clock while the woman stood silently in the living room, waiting for his mother to return. After a moment she began to tap her toe on the hardwood floor. It might have been a quiet sound normally but his ears picked up every brush and wind movement. It didn't hurt like it used to now that he could control it but was still maddening, not to mention horridly distracting, while he was trying to work. He opened his mouth to ask her to stop but before he said a word her foot was stilled and all was quiet once more.

Sylar sighed in relief and leaned in closer to the table. Just when the room had sunk back into its complacency, she began to finger her bracelet, a soft jingling sound accompanying her movement. With a groan he sent down his instrument, giving up on his work while she was there and ran a hand across his forehead. As suddenly as it began, the noise stopped, almost like if she sensed his irritation, even at noises most people could not have heard.

"So Tabitha was it? How'd you come to befriend my mother?" He turned to face the woman, who seemed so apt to fidget when no one was speaking to her. Her eyes widened and she seemed surprised by his sudden interest. She was of an average stature, now that he looked at her, dirty blonde hair drawn up in a messy ponytail, skin a pale hue. Clad in a black button-down shirt and short, gray, pleated skirt, she seemed the typical librarian type but had a hint of quiet rebellion in her as well.

"Oh, well," she began, caught off-guard. "Occasional hallway greetings turn to small talk turn to conversations and then coffee between friends. I'm sure you know the story." She gave him a friendly smile.

"Nice to see she has someone to keep her company." Sylar crossed his arms in front of him. "What is it you're borrowing from her?"

"Old records. It seems we share an interest in Sinatra and the like." He grabbed the edge of the chair next to him and turned it to face the room rather than the table it was tucked under, offering her a seat. "She tells me a lot about you," she said accepting the offer. "What's your traveling been like?"

"Exhausting. Nice to see everything but makes you appreciate home more."

"Of course. That's what it's all about isn't it?"

"Hmm?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Appreciating what you have, I mean." She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "A sad thing it is to see people who don't realize how lucky they are, right?"

Sylar met her gaze with a stare of his own. "The saddest."

He heard a creak and looked toward his mother's room. She gasped when he caught her watching them and shut the door quickly. He sighed, biting the inside of his cheek and closing his eyes, feeling anger well up. His mother never did expect him to prosper in social situations and it didn't help that she was also quite the prying type. So overbearing and distrustful of anyone making decisions without her. She'd never left him to his own devices and that thought had him tightening his hold on the side of his chair. He could ask for help when he needed it. He looked up at the young woman and as he met her eyes he saw something he hadn't expected. He had clenched his jaw and felt the resentment overtaking him as he looked up, and maybe it was lucky that was the split second they met eyes. Maybe it was just a fortunate coincidence that she had visited that night; that one night he was there. Maybe it was _fate_ that he even saw it. But whatever the circumstance, he saw a light in her eyes flicker.

Sylar's anger evaporated. He felt his jaw lower enough so that his lips parted and he couldn't stop himself from staring; his breathing went shallow and heart rate increased; his muscles seemed to interlace tighter and his spine drew him up straighter; everything that was familiar in that situation; all this as he realized she was one of them. Too late he realized he let the hunger overtake him.

"I should be going now." Tabitha stood suddenly. "You and your mother have a nice evening." She seemed shaken as she turned for the door.

"Don't you want to get the records?" Sylar rose from his seat, grasping the fact that he had alerted her to his intentions. Just as he had realized what she was, she had realized that he understood what it meant. Maybe if he hadn't been so obvious. Maybe she would have recognized him as a friend rather than the dangerous adversary he was. If only she hadn't seen the look in his eyes - the same sound Dale had heard in his heart - murder.

"It can wait until tomorrow." She moved quickly to the exit.

"Tabitha wait." She turned back. "Where was it again that you lived?"

Her eyes widened and he could hear the difficulty of her swallowing as her throat dried. "Just upstairs." She forced a pleasant smile and left. Sylar shook his head. As if being vague about which of the fourteen floors she lived on was going to stop him. He had more important matters to attend to at the moment, but there would always be later.

Mrs. Gray ran from her bedroom, records clutched in hand. "What happened?"

Sylar was still staring at the door. "She had to leave," he breathed. "Lovely woman. Where did you say her apartment was?"

"I didn't," Mrs. Gray said. "But it's 7C. Maybe you could take the records up to her later."

Sylar smiled. "I'd be happy to."

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He _knew_ there had been someone following him. It was only a matter of waiting for them to come out of hiding. That was how it always went. Sylar knew that the defensive was always the best position if you didn't know your enemy and that combined with a certain degree of patience kept him alive many-a time. He would have killed the man, he reasoned, had he not been so caught up in what had happened. Survival instinct had him break the sword in defense, but had he a moment to think it through he surely would have ended him.

The vision plagued him as he walked down the hall; the painting he had made out of his mother's blood. He could still see it plain as day and felt that excitement ready to spring up. He almost couldn't wait for it all to happen. He stopped just before he reached the stairs, realizing he didn't have to. Sylar looked over at the staircase leading to the upper floors. He had the time. He felt the excitement, the anticipation.

She must have been gone by now, but to where? For how long? Would she wait it out or leave for good, if she'd even left at all? Slim chance, but oh God the temptation. Another new power to play with. It was worth listening at her door to see if he could hear her breathing. He smiled. Sylar turned and began to head up to apartment 7C.

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Tabitha paced. It was all she could do. He had found her.

There was always that feeling in the back of her mind. That feeling you got when your mother told you not to climb trees but you did it anyway because there was _no way_ you'd be hurt; the feeling that danger was only a word. She had always felt as if she should be afraid, but bad things happened to other people, not her.

But he found her. Not so much found as she walked right up to him. She had gone right up and smiled: 'Hi I'm Tabby, please take my brain.' And now it was just the countdown. Should she wait? Should she find some way to get it over with now; let him come and take it from her dead body? Tabitha shook her head at the thought. She was always too much of a coward for that to happen. What else could she do but wait? Had she left, ran, hid, there would be no way she could return; not for money, clothes, food, belongings, anything. And she had nowhere to go.

What good would it do anyway? She had heard the stories. Stories about him being more ghost than man. Appearing, disappearing, blowing through town like a wind and leaving only a body and no other worldly traces; the thing they couldn't kill. They said once he knew about you it was only a matter of time. They said he had powers you couldn't comprehend. That he could _find_ you.

Maybe it was fate, she decided. She should just stand and face her destiny as valiantly as possible. She would be the next. Tabitha shook her head, heart still racing, and still disbelieving that she had actually seen him, as she whispered, "Sylar."

Her door swung open and crashed into the wall. She gasped and spun to face the figure in her doorway.

"You didn't run." It was something out of a horror film. He stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the hall, yet shrouded in darkness. His glasses were gone and hair mussed, his shirt sleeves pushed up above his elbows; all that she could tell. He could have been a whole different person from the look of him - turning from a quiet intellectual to confident predator - but she knew better than that. Tabitha could feel him, the way he carried himself and how his presence filled the room just like before when he had looked at her. He had that kind of intensity that, used in the right way, could steal someone's breath, but what he chose to do with it had him stealing her breath for a completely different reason. Her stomach tightened painfully and felt the hairs on her arms begin to rise.

"What would have been the point?" she admitted. As he turned his head down to the side, she saw his lips pulled back in a smile.

"I'm glad someone finally acknowledges that it's inevitable." He began to walk forward as the door shut behind him. Tabitha couldn't stop herself from backing away, try as she may to be brave. She felt the small of her back press into the kitchen counter and he was still advancing. "Let's see what that lovely little power of yours can do."

Her elbow knocked a pan into her sink with a crash as she tried to push herself further back. "It's useless. You wouldn't want it."

"Oh really? And why is that?"

"Nothing like…" She paused, trying frantically to think of the powers she'd heard of the others having. "Telepathy or… or telekinesis. Nothing useful at all." He was getting close. So close. And he was still smiling.

And then Sylar stopped, the eerie grin fading, after watching that light in her eyes flicker again. A feeling made him pause. A feeling, much like that of fondness, welled up inside and it threw him. He had been hooked on the hunger, the fascination, but then all of a sudden… _fondness_? A compulsion to not to hurt her? He locked on to her eyes with that intensity and a novel interest in his gaze. "So that's what you do."

"And why would you need it? Don't you think playing with people's emotions is a little below someone like you?"

Sylar cocked his head to the side. "I'll admit it's a bit disappointing…"

"Then don't even bother with me," Tabitha said. "I swear if you just walk away, I won't even tell anyone you're in the city. We can just pretend this never happened."

The feeling of attachment flared up again. "But why would I do that Tabitha?" he said after a moment. He bit his lip and seemed to sulk like a child being told what to do. "It's just not in me to walk away from any opportunity." The smile returned and she realized how badly he was toying with her. He was _enjoying_ it. It wasn't just for the powers. It was a compulsion. Tabitha gripped the edge of the counter behind her as she forced the feeling on him even harder, pushing the delight away.

He took another step forward. "Affection or not, I can still hurt people who get in the way of what I want." Tabitha felt her fingernails straining as they pressed into the underside of the counter where she held it. She wasn't stopping him.

"Maybe I can do something for you then."

Sylar raised an eyebrow. "Bargaining now are we?"

"I'll do anything for you to spare my life. I can decipher every emotion you ever had; tell you why you do the things you do. You couldn't begin to guess the things people don't even know they feel."

Sylar raised his hand and Tabitha felt a crushing hold on her throat. He was still ten feet away. "If you're going to try to stop me, at least use something good."

The grip loosened enough for her to cough and she gasped, "I can show you exactly what you need to be satisfied with your life."

Sylar's smile faded. "I'll be satisfied once I have a new ability." The pain in her neck throbbed again and she felt tears burst from her eyes.

"You can have everything possible - every power - but without a gratification of the emotions you won't ever be content."His eyes narrowed almost imperceptivity and Tabitha felt him become unsteadied. "I can help you." The invisible grip on her throat tightened making her cry out.

"I don't need anyone's help." He moved forward and wrapped his hand around her neck, feeling it for himself. "I'll just take that power of yours now." He raised his hand toward her forehead. "And I'll have fun with it too," he mocked. "Figuring out 'how to be satisfied with my life.'"

"No, that won't work," she choked out desperately, clawing at his hands. "It doesn't work on me."

His grip loosened. He looked into her eyes and knew she was telling the truth. He could almost see it in her eyes - how her power worked - could almost see it in all of their eyes. If he were to take it, he could only use it on others. She locked her eyes onto his.

"What do you want Gabriel? I can give you everything." In his moment of thought she took the opportunity to let the spark in her eyes relight, inciting more feelings in him, but this time, testing a new route. Sylar's jaw dropped as the most overwhelming emotion enveloped him. It was completion, what could only be described as nirvana, a happiness of an otherworldly magnitude. He couldn't tell what was up or down or if his heart was even beating. It was pleasure and light, floating and security at the same time and so many things that never would seem to go together, but combined made the absolute and ideal bliss.

And then it was gone. He was back in apartment 7C, his hand around Tabitha's throat, trying to regain the control he slipped out of. Tabitha wrapped her hands around his wrist that was holding her.

"I swear to God, if you kill me, you will never feel that emotion again in your life."

"How…" he whispered, closing his eyes for a moment.

"That is satisfaction. That is what happens when you gratify your emotions." Tabitha felt his grip slacken and used the opportunity to pull his hand away from her neck. "And you said you'd have no use for me."

"You…" Sylar began.

"I can understand you Gabriel. Did you ever wish that someone could _get_ you?"

He finally opened his eyes. "My name is Sylar."

Tabitha looked up at him, staring deeper. Tabitha took on that intense and interested gaze he had given her earlier. "You want to be exceptional. That's why you do all this."

He conjured up the hunger; the hunger for her ability and tried to move closer. He had to have it, he couldn't pass it up. He needed to take the power; take it from those who didn't deserve it; those that were broken. It was an evolutionary imperative.

"You want lust, Gabriel?" she whispered when she felt him lust for her power. "I'll give you lust." He felt a need blossom within him and he gripped the counter behind her. She continued. "Now, is that what used to keep you up at night, Gabriel?" she whispered. "The thought of being insignificant and identical to any other random person in New York?"

He reached up to brush a few strands of hair out of her eyes, gently, almost lovingly. Tabitha smiled. He savored the feeling of her skin, wishing he had the motivation to tear it open; take what he had come to get. If only he'd gone home instead, or killed her before she had the chance to open her mouth. He always had to play with them, see their reactions to staring death in the face. If only he had the willpower to go through with it.

"This ability of yours is more powerful than I thought." Sylar moved his hands to her sides. "It makes me want it even more." He tried again to cloud her control and was slowly succeeding.

"I can feel it. You just want to be accepted." He stiffened. "You love your mom but she never could accept you for who you were. You just want someone to say you're perfect as you are; that you _are_ special." He blinked a few times, softening his gaze. As he stared her eyes flickered and the pang of lust hit him again; a basal, primal lust, nothing more that a physical longing, starting at his core and creeping up his spine into his throat and forcing out a breath. He drew air back in as another hit. This one was different; something higher on a metaphorical and literal scale. With the longing came a momentary vision of lovemaking; closeness; connection; the feeling of being one with and understood by another. His mind screamed at him to block it out and he tried to force a rage to cloud the feelings. He shouldn't have been wanting it, craving it. Just before he thought he had control over his emotions, yet another stronger wave swept over him and he could hear a distant version of her voice calling, "Oh Gabriel! You're so amazing. So perfect."

"You just want acceptance," her real voice whispered in his ear. "To be recognized." His fingers tightened on the fabric of her shirt. "I can give you everything you need."

He pressed his face into her neck and let out a ragged and desperate moan. "Stop it," he breathed and pushed hard on her hip, forcing her back to press harder to the counter behind her. Tabitha winced but kept up.

"Your lust extends so far beyond the physical. I've never seen anything like it. Lust for acknowledgment, for power."

"I know it's not real."

She ignored him. She had stopped him long enough to keep him from killing her and in desperation would not let up until she was out of harms way. "There's no denying your power. Even I can't."

"I said stop it." He gripped hard on her sides, hard enough to make tears form on the edges of her eyelids.

"You can kill me at any moment and yet I can't keep myself from being awed by your presence." Sylar groaned into her neck but didn't threaten her farther.

"Play with my emotions all you want, I _know_ it's fake." His voice was strained, as if he were trying to force himself to believe it too.

"But you can't stop yourself, can you?" She let the lust flare up again and he tensed.

"I can feel it but I know it's not real."

"Then stop thinking."

He pushed back from her forcefully and grabbed the sides of her face. "No more games Tabitha." He brought his finger to her forehead but she grabbed at his hand. He squeezed hard on her neck and shook off her grasp, telekinetically forcing her hands behind herself. She cried out as he tried again.

"Imagine the power, Sylar," she screamed desperately and he paused. "Imagine what you could do if you let me show you all the secrets." He set his jaw and leaned in closer, concentrating on the job he had to do. "Secrets you can never discover if you kill me." His finger hovered at her temple. He didn't move for a whole minute and she felt herself begin to shake with anticipation so that she almost hoped he would get on with it lest she suffer the torture of waiting. Suddenly the binding on her hands loosened.

"I don't need to know any secrets."

"Think of the feelings that I gave you. Think of the things I can see. You just want someone to understand." The bind on her hands evaporated and she brought them up to his shoulders. "I can understand you. I can show you things you don't realize you feel and explain why you do. I can take you to a whole new level." The waves of lust washed over Sylar again and he couldn't help but press himself up against her.

"I know it's not real," he repeated once again.

"Of course. Your mind is stronger than your feelings." She ran her hands up and down his arms. "And you are stronger than anyone else I've used this on. You're the only one to resist this long."

He tried to pretend that didn't excite him. "You're just doing this to save your life."

"I told you I'd do anything. That's what makes me different from everyone else. They didn't want their powers badly enough."

"They were broken." He drew in an unsteady breath as he felt the closeness; the appreciation. "It's all an illusion."

"I obviously don't love you Gabriel, but I've always had a thing for the bad guys." She tugged on his shirt, pulling him closer and pressed her lips to his. She kissed him once, twice, three times before he responded to it, but when their tongues met he pulled back with a sharp intake of breath.

"Stop it," he ordered, closing his eyes and pressing harder against her so that she could hardly breathe but with the adrenaline it barely hurt.

Her distant voice rang in his ears again. "So amazing. So perfect. Oh _Sylar_!" He felt a momentary rush of the nirvana she gave him earlier. His mind's hold over his emotions broke and he couldn't tell himself to stop anymore. Somewhere deep down, he knew she'd scream his name and lie to him, pretend it was the most wonderful night of her life just to save herself, but it couldn't stop him. He wanted to hear it out loud – needed to – even if it was an illusion. And at the same time, her sense of self-preservation helped to spur his actions as well. She was the only one who tried to fight back – the only one who'd ever won the moment – and she would keep doing whatever it took to preserve her life and power. She used everything she had to overpower his will and cloud his senses. She sunk to her lowest of lows for a chance at life and that was the true nature of Darwin's Law. And she had succeeded. She had succeeded in a way no other could have. She wasn't broken.


End file.
